


All Your Dreams Turned Bittersweet

by lco123



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Liar Friendship, Post-Series, a ship-heavy fic that isn't really about ships, darkish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 19:17:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14983787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lco123/pseuds/lco123
Summary: I want to tell the truth, she writes. Even when it’s easier not to.It’s not much, she knows. But it feels like a start.In which the Liars have to break down in order to rebuild.





	1. Far From the Things That You Know

**Author's Note:**

> I've been mulling over and tinkering with this fic for a while, but inspired by my friend speakpirate's ambitious fic-posting project this month, I'm going to post the first chapter, warts and all. It's a lot of set-up.
> 
> This fic will have a fair bit of angst to it, but it's born out of my love for these characters and my curiosity about how their lives might fall apart - and get rebuilt - post-finale. More than anything, this is an ode to the love story of the Liars. Not the ships, not A, but these strong women who have been through hell with one another. That's always what kept me coming back, even when PLL let me down time and time again. 
> 
> The road may not be smooth, but one way or another, I believe our Liars can find their way back to one another.

Spencer can’t look in mirrors anymore.

She supposes that’s par for the course when one is terrorized by their identical evil twin. She figures it’s one more addition to the list, one more thing A has taken from her. Along with tight spaces, dolls, puppets, Patsy Cline, formal wear, and hoodies. _Triggers_ , the therapist she quit seeing would call them. Some are easy to avoid.

Mirrors are not.

She finds herself spending more time in bars, or alone. Spaces with too many people or too few. For whatever reason, intimacy has started to feel like another trigger. Not sex; she’s having a fair amount of that, most of which she doesn’t regret. But connection. It’s a struggle. It fractured whatever remained between her and Toby before that could even really restart. And it’s created a divide between Spencer and her friends that at one time would have seemed impossible.

Even when they lived outside of Rosewood, even through college and Madrid and AD, there was never any doubt in Spencer’s mind that the four—and later, five—of them were a unit. Alison may have temporary shifted out of that core enfoldment in the years when she was trying to rehabilitate Charlotte, but then she and Emily got together, and things seemed to click back into place. Not _back_ , even. To a place much better than before.

It’s different, now. Spencer knows that she’s isolating herself. Her friends try to check in, and she thinks that the bonds between them are as strong as ever. She can’t know for sure, though. There’s no A to blame it on—other than Alex, who was captured in Europe over a year ago after having been missing for eighteen months. The disconnect would be easier to justify if Spencer could pin it on another masked figure pulling the strings. 

But there’s no mask, no pretty little lie for Spencer to hang her hat on. There’s just the ugly truth: Spencer is twenty-seven years old and doesn’t know who the hell she is. She spent years trying to solve the mysteries of other people’s lives, only to be stuck here in the lonely quiet of not knowing herself.

“Sometimes, drama is like an addiction,” her former therapist told her. “We stop knowing how to function without it.”

Spencer’s heart was beating hard when she left the office, and she never called him back to schedule another session.

\--

Caleb isn’t home. At this point, Hanna almost prefers it that way.

She hates to admit it, but as Olivia gets older, Hanna realizes that the truth is unavoidable. When Caleb is home, he alternates between being distant and moody, and he’s too distracted to be truly connected with his daughter. Hanna finds it easier to parent without him. She doesn’t have to fight over how to feed or dress Olivia, she just gets to be with her kid. Who she actually really enjoys being with.

Maybe it’s because Olivia is quickly turning into a hybrid of Hanna herself and Mona. Hanna didn’t see that coming, but then again, she didn’t expect Mona to be such a fixture in her daughter’s life. When Mona breezed back into town after the capture of Alex and Mary Drake, announcing that all was forgiven and she’d be staying in Rosewood, Hanna hadn’t thought much of it. Mona’s way had always been to arrive out of nowhere, holding the key to the puzzle and sporting a fabulous pair of shoes, before moving on to her next adventure.

But this time she stayed. And it made Hanna realize that maybe she’d been wrong about those other times. Maybe Mona had actually been there all along, steadfastly standing in the shadows, even when Hanna couldn’t see her. Not in a creepy A way, but more like a fairy godmother. Ready and willing to make Hanna’s dreams come true.

Olivia certainly seems to see her that way. Hanna was wary at first, but it became clear that Mona’s intentions were born of friendship. She wanted to be a support for Hanna and Olivia. So Hanna has let her.

Mona got Hanna set up with some fancy pants European nanny who’s already teaching Olivia French and has made Hanna’s transition back into work so much easier. And it allows Hanna to go out to dinner with Mona at least once a week, which is a win-win, in Hanna's book. Mona’s apartment has a whole corner set up for Olivia, a contained bit of chaos in an otherwise impeccably decorated space. Mona likes to take Olivia shopping and to the zoo, and she has a way of suggesting these endeavors just at the point when Hanna’s ready to tear her own hair out. Mona and Olivia have their own way of communicating, their own secret language that goes beyond words. It’s kind of remarkable to witness.

Hanna has had a lot of different feelings toward Mona over the years, but now she can feel nothing but immense gratitude toward her. Mona has been there, when most other people have not. Not Caleb, certainly; he’s been busy with work and meetings and god knows what else. Not Emily and Alison, who seem to be in a groove with their kids but haven’t done much reaching out lately. Not Aria, who Hanna knows is at a major crossroads. And not Spencer, who’s been drifting away for long enough that Hanna’s pretty much gotten used to it.

Maybe Hanna's leaned into the divide slightly, knowing the potential ripples bringing Mona around could create. But as it stands, Mona and Ashley have been the ones who have held Hanna together this past year. Hanna doesn’t know what she would do without them. 

Luckily, Mona assures her, she doesn’t have to find out.

\--

Aria signs her divorce papers alone. There isn’t much fanfare or excitement. She goes to bed a Fitz and wakes up a Montgomery.

Nothing goes how she expected it.

When she determined—about a year ago, after two months of couples counseling and nine months of individual therapy—that this was the direction her marriage was heading, she pictured her friends by her side. When she finally got up the nerve to tell them that she’d be filing for divorce, they confirmed her vision.

“We’ll be there,” Emily promised.

“Through it all,” Hanna seconded. “We’ll pop champagne.”

“Maybe we could take a trip,” Alison suggested. “Spend the weekend somewhere warm.”

“We’re here for you, Aria,” Spencer declared.

But it’s been a long year. For all of them. It feels to Aria like the puzzle of her life is getting pieces removed, one right after another. At first it was just a few pieces near the middle, nothing too important. But now her corner pieces—her very foundation—have vanished, and she’s struggling to stay on the table.

Aria and her therapist determine that she needs a plan. She decides to spend the summer traveling, with her first stop in Rosewood. She goes to see her mom, who is also fresh off a divorce and looks at Aria with a knowing sadness.

“I’m supposed to figure out what I want,” Aria tells Ella, like it’s a homework assignment rather than a list of serious life goals.

“Okay,” Ella says as she pours Aria another glass of wine. “So, what do you want?”

“To write another book,” Aria answers. “One that’s all my own. And, um. I’d like a baby, too.”

She half-expects her mom to raise an eyebrow and tell Aria that having a child is a ridiculous idea to be considering right now. But Ella knows the score; in these hectic last few months, she and Aria have been leaning on one another more than ever. Ella is aware that of the many issues that broke up Aria and Ezra, the topic of children was one of them.

Ella takes the information in stride, nodding toward the blank paper in front of Aria. “Write it down,” she instructs.

“You don’t think—”

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Ella says, gently but firmly. “I want you to believe in _yourself_ , Aria. Trust your instincts.”

Aria isn’t sure what to say to that. There’s a heaviness in her mom’s tone that Aria is certain implies more. But she’s already spent a lifetime trying to decipher hidden messages and scrolling over what ifs. If there’s anything this last year has taught her, it’s that living in the here and now is most important.

“Alright,” Aria agrees.

“Are you going to see your friends while you’re here?”

Aria hesitates before shaking her head, and Ella doesn’t ask any more questions. Aria realizes with a pang that maybe her mother has gotten tired of waiting for the lie. 

That night before she climbs into her childhood bed, Aria adds another item to the list.

 _I want to tell the truth_ , she writes. _Even when it’s easier not to._

It’s not much, she knows. But it feels like a start.


	2. Time to Grow

Mona is multitasking.

That’s always been a talent of hers. She’s currently on the phone trying to get Olivia enrolled in the new, swanky Waldorf preschool that's opening up in Rosewood, while simultaneously looking over voter registering numbers in preparation for the campaign she’ll soon be running, _and_ mentally planning a dinner menu for tonight. It might look like a lot, to someone else. But by Mona’s standards, it’s all so perfectly ordinary, practically mundane.

This isn’t where she thought she’d be a few years ago. Not by a mile.

In Paris, Mona thought she’d figured things out. No one could hurt her anymore. She had complete control over Alex and Mary. She was a god. She’d _won._

_And yet._

The feeling didn’t last long. She was surprised by how immobilized she felt—not just physically, though taking captors certainly did limit her ability to move around. But emotionally and mentally, too, she found herself…stuck. Trapped. Which was a sensation she had sworn she’d never feel again. 

She was in a cycle. Maybe she always had been. But this time, she had the power to break free.

Once she made that decision, she could’ve slipped something in Mary and Alex’s food to kill them quickly, dissolved the bodies in a barrel of acid and poured the remains into the Seine. She could picture it clearly, too clearly: sipping champagne as her powerboat sped away, watching the clear water turn the color of dark wine behind her five-hundred-dollar sunglasses.

She was never going to do any of that. Mona is a lot of things, but evil isn’t one of them. There’s enough blood on her hands already.

Instead, she smuggled Mary and Alex onto a cargo plane headed for Germany, then left an anonymous tip with Tanner. By the time Tanner was on her way to apprehend them, Mona already had three potential buyers for the doll shop lined up. She knew that Alex and Mary might rat on her—they had no reason not to, but they also had no real reason to, either; they’d both be spending a lifetime in prison regardless, and Tanner wouldn’t believe a word they said.

Once she had confirmation that Mary and Alex were back behind bars—real, official, government-sanctioned ones—Mona returned to the States. She told herself a lot of stories about why she came back specifically to Rosewood, the scene of so many crimes. She told herself that it was because of her mother, the community, her desire to reshape the town into something better.

But the truth lived heavy in her heart like a stone. She came home for Hanna. All these years later, it was still inevitably, always about Hanna.

Motherhood hadn’t changed Hanna, exactly, but it had sharpened her in some ways. She had a resolve about her, a newfound steeliness, that Mona hadn’t seen in a long time but had always known Hanna was capable of. It made Hanna seem that much more beautiful, and Mona was stunned by how instantly and powerfully she fell back in love with her. As though she was kidding herself to think that the love had ever left to begin with.

Hanna approached Mona a bit cautiously at first, but the bond between Mona and Olivia was quick and undeniable. It wasn’t long before it felt like Hanna and Mona were back to what they used to be, with a few significant changes. This time, Mona wasn’t planning games. And for the first time, Hanna seemed to actually want Mona around as much as she needed her.

So that’s where they are now. And sure, maybe Mona gets some mild satisfaction out of Caleb turning out to be the louse she always knew he was with his constant and casual absence. Mostly, though, she’s furious with him. He’s missing out on the most incredible life with his wife and child, a life some people would kill for. How dare he take them for granted. 

All the same, his failures as a husband and father have opened a window for Mona. Hanna and Olivia have started to feel like her family. Not a fantasy, but a reality.

Tonight, Mona will make dinner for the three of them. Hanna and Olivia will arrive around five, Hanna letting herself in with the key Mona gave her last month. Olivia will smile when Mona picks her up and carries her to her play corner. Mona and Hanna will drink wine while they set the table, and when Mona lights a candle she’ll pretend not to notice the way the flame glints off of Hanna’s wedding ring. The two of them will laugh and share stories about their day, and then later Hanna will help Mona wash the dishes while Olivia watches a show. Their hips will bump lightly as they work together in comfortable silence, and every so often their fingers will brush.

It might be as close as they get.

It’s still more than Mona ever imagined possible.


	3. Rewrite An Ending Or Two

Sometimes it feels like the divorce happened slowly, the ramp up long and agonizing and plagued with second-guessing. That’s the story Aria tends to present when she’s tasked with talking about it.

Other times, it feels like it happened quickly, like everything fell into place. A decision so easy to make, it was as though there wasn’t even a choice to be had in the first place.

Aria guesses that the truth is somewhere in the middle. She and Ezra had been having problems, stemming from a number of different places. He wanted to move to L.A. and pursue screenwriting, she wanted to stay on the East Coast and write her own novel. He wanted to put off having kids, she felt like they needed to make a plan if they were ever going to be parents.

But it wasn’t just the difference in desires that caused friction; it was the way Ezra responded to them. She wanted to talk, and he refused to. He’d shut down and pout, or twist her words until their conversation had turned into an argument.

It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t terrible either. It wasn’t anything Aria couldn’t handle. They made a half-hearted attempt at counseling, where Aria did her best to open up and Ezra insisted that the male counselor was jealous of him. After a few sessions, Aria began seeing the therapist solo. She liked getting to talk about her life with someone objective. She felt like perhaps this was a solution; that maybe if she worked on herself, their marriage would fall into place naturally.

But then Ezra started acting evasive. Not wanting Aria to look at his phone or laptop. Coming home late and going straight to the shower. Aria recognized the signs. She’d been on the other side of his lies, once upon a time. She was still a good enough sleuth to figure out what was going on. It was the young woman who worked at the bakery where Ezra liked to write. Aria had been there with him a few times, and he always lingered with the woman, even offered to read her poems once or twice. She wanted to be a writer, Aria recalled. So young and full of excitement. More of a girl, really, than a woman. Her name was Melody.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Hanna said when Aria told her that particular detail. She was visiting Aria in New York at the apartment she and Ezra had rented after their honeymoon. “ _Melody_?”

“Don’t say whatever it is you’re thinking,” Aria replied flatly. Her mouth tasted like metal. She had spent a ridiculous amount of time combing over Melody’s Instagram in the past few days. She found herself oddly fixated on determining the girl’s age.

Aria twisted her laptop screen so that Hanna could see a picture of Melody with a group of young women in bikinis on a beach. They were laughing and holding red Solo cups up toward the setting sun.

“That’s got to be a sorority picture, right?” Aria asked. “So she’s in college, at least?”

Hanna furrowed her brow. “Um, I guess? Why haven’t you talked to Ezra yet?”

“I want to be sure,” Aria murmured, even though she already was, at least about the affair. She’d driven by the bakery around closing three times that week. Ezra was always there, sitting with his laptop at the counter while Melody swept up. The second night they’d intentionally brushed hands. The third night he’d pulled her into his lap and pressed a kiss to her neck.

Aria confronted Ezra a week later. She had a speech planned, had even practiced in front of the mirror, but when it came time to speak she blurted out, “How old is she?”

Ezra blinked at her, badly acting like he had no idea what she was talking about. It was late, and he’d just gotten in. Probably after spending the evening with her. “Aria, I’m tired. Let’s go to bed.”

“Don’t make me feel crazy,” Aria pleaded, hating how small her voice sounded. “ _Please._ I know about Melody.”

Ezra sighed. “Whatever you think you saw, you’re misinterpreting. She has a little crush on me. It’ll pass.”

“Is that what you told people about me?”

Aria wasn’t expecting to ask that question, but the second the words left her mouth, she knew that it was over. If she had that thought in her mind, how in the world could she ever trust him again?

She walked to the bakery alone. She sat at the counter and smiled when Melody took her order. Aria could tell that Melody recognized her. The panic in her eyes made the girl look even younger.

“A word of advice,” Aria said. “Don’t get involved with him. He’ll only break your heart.” When Melody walked away silently, Aria slid forty dollars under the salt shaker and left without waiting for her order.

She went home, packed up her things and rented a hotel room. She called Veronica Hastings and asked for a referral, requesting that she not tell Spencer.

“Attorney-client privilege, remember?” Veronica said gently. “You still have me on retainer. Good luck, Aria.”

She called her mother next, who empathized and then broke down in tears, admitting that she and Aria’s father were also divorcing, a fact which Aria found unsurprising.

After the call, Aria sat in her hotel room and looked around. She needed to tell her friends, though Hanna more or less knew. Still, it felt like a big deal to confirm it. She knew they would be by her side, but she couldn’t help imagining the looks on their faces, a mixture of pity and “I told you so.” The thought made her stomach turn.

When Ezra called her, demanding to know where Aria was, Aria informed him that he’d soon be hearing from her lawyer. He was furious, released a tirade of insults, asked over and over again how she could do this to him. But he didn’t apologize, and he didn’t ask her to stay. In some part of him, she knew, he was as done as she was. He didn’t want her anymore.

Once Aria finally got up the courage to send out an SOS, her friends were immediately by her side. They assured her that they’d be there for her, no matter what. They sat in her hotel room and held her hand while she cried. And Aria believed them. She felt better having told them, and she thought briefly about Emily coming out. Maybe the five of them could start anew. Maybe the distance she’d felt since marrying Ezra would dissipate with him out of the picture. How could it not?

But it quickly became clear that it hadn't just been about Ezra. Some kind of fracture had taken place, though Aria couldn’t trace it back to any one thing in particular. She just knew that a closeness had been lost, and she wasn’t sure how to find it.

She still isn’t sure, now that’s she’s back in Rosewood and officially divorced. She drives past the Hastings house on her way out of town and refuses to look out the window. It’s like she’s driving past a crime scene. Which might be what this whole town has become to her.

Aria made a loose plan with her therapist, but she doesn’t really have a destination in mind. She drives west. She stops for meals at greasy diners and for sleep at cheap motels. Occasionally she’ll do something tourist-y, but mostly she keeps to herself. She takes pictures and writes, working on and off on the semi-autobiographical novel that she was afraid to write for most of her marriage. Her heart clenches when she sees families, especially ones with little kids. Her aloneness has started to feel like loneliness. She doesn’t long for a partner, but she longs for a family. 

At first she thought it was hormonal, or some weird reaction to the news that it would be challenging to get pregnant. She tried to talk herself out of the wanting, weakly convincing herself that she was being silly. The voice that told her that sounded oddly like Ezra’s. But now she’s come to accept the desire for a child, for whatever the reason. When Aria thinks about it, truly, it feels simple: she wants to bring more light into the dark world. She wants a reason to hope again.

She makes it all the way to California. She’s in the tiny town of Eureka, just finished filling her car up with gas, when a man with long blonde hair catches her eye. She squints in the sunshine as the man turns around and smiles at her.

It’s Jason DiLaurentis.

Aria doesn’t know why, but she runs toward him, launching herself into his arms. It feels like forever since she’s seen someone she knows, someone from home.

“ _Eureka_ ,” he murmurs into her hair, like he can’t quite believe it.

She smiles up at him. “You found me!”

Jason is also on a bit of a soul-searching trip, though he’s on a tighter time frame than Aria. He’s been building houses in South America for the past six months and needed a break before heading to India in a few weeks.

“It’s a balance,” he tells her over lunch. “I try to keep myself busy without burning out.”

Aria gets that, completely. If this trip has taught her anything, it’s the level of repression she’s been operating with for a significant portion of her life.

“This is completely wild,” Jason says, shaking his head. “I mean, what are the odds?” He runs a hand through his hair, a sight which still makes Aria’s stomach feel a little swoopy.

“It’s fate,” she offers.

It feels inevitable that they end up back in a motel room. Aria had planned to keep driving today, but she can’t imagine leaving Jason behind, and they’re heading in opposite directions. He’s working his way back toward Rosewood to drop his car off before flying out.

“Will you see Ali and Em?” she asks him when he tells her that. She awaits his response with anxiety, as though his answer will determine what happens next. Like she’s breaking some kind of code if she goes through with this.

He shakes his head, and it’s only then that she kisses him. She’s unkempt from the road, hasn’t shaved in weeks and has put on a few pounds from mostly eating at diners and gas stations, but Jason doesn’t seem to mind. He carries her to the bed like she weighs nothing. He takes his time undressing her, and she does the same in kind, running her hands along the muscles of his chest, blushing a little as she drifts lower.

He kisses down her body, makes her come hard against his mouth—he’s _good_ at that, much better than Ezra, which is a thought that makes her laugh a little through her orgasm. And when he reaches for a condom, it’s like something else comes over her. She puts a hand on top of his.

“You don’t want to?” he asks.

“I do,” she confirms. “Just… you don’t have to use that.”

“Are you on birth control?”

She shakes her head. “But I’m clean, I promise. Are you?”

Jason nods, still looking confused. “Aria, I—”

“Jason.” She’s never felt so vulnerable, laying completely naked in front of this gorgeous man, basically asking him without asking to get her pregnant. It’s ridiculous, and probably a little pathetic. It’s definitely not a turn-on, it’s unlikely to work, and most importantly, she hasn't thought it through. But something in Aria tells her to keep going. 

She takes a deep breath. “I want to have a baby. I won’t ask you for anything else, I promise. But could we just try?”

Jason blinks at her. “I’m in the middle of traveling, I won’t be around—”

“That’s okay. This is the only part I need help with.”

“You know I’d give you anything you’d ask for.”

She nods. “I know. And look, you certainly don’t have to, but—”

Jason sets the condom down and cups her face, kissing her deeply. “This is really what you want?” he asks.

Aria nods, more sure of that than she’s ever been sure of anything. “Yeah, it is.”

He regards her for one more minute before nodding. “Okay.”

Aria bites her lip, unable to contain her grin. “Alison’s going to kill us.”

Jason groans. “Don’t bring up Alison right now.”

Aria laughs and he kisses her again, pressing her back against the mattress.

The sex is electric, like it’s always been between them.“I can’t believe we did that,” Jason pants as they collapse beside one another.

“I’ll tell you, y’know, if anything happens,” Aria promises. “Maybe we’re a better match.”

He strokes some hair back from her forehead, looking at her a little sadly. “Yeah, maybe we are.”

They spend the rest of the day in bed. Aria is happy to spend the time with him, and she's also aware that the more sex they have, the greater the chance is that she’ll get pregnant. It’s a weird thought process to have, so she doesn’t verbalize it to Jason.

The next morning, he leaves early, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she stands outside their motel room.

“Aria Montgomery,” he says tenderly. “You never cease to surprise me.”

Aria’s eyes fill with tears as she watches his car drive away. She’s not in love with him, she never really has been. But she does love him, and she trusts him in a way that feels unique. The idea that she might carry a part of him with her feels oddly comforting.

Later that day she gets back on the road, and even though she doesn’t know where she’s going, she doesn’t feel so aimless. She drives north, along the Oregon coast. She watches the sun set from the hood of her car, pressing a hand to her belly and whispering something like a prayer.

In the morning she decides to head back east, taking a slightly different route. Being with Jason made her miss home. She wants to see her mom and her friends. But she decides to take her time. This trip was budgeted for another month, and there’s no need to rush. The loneliness feels less overwhelming. Perhaps, she recognizes, because she isn’t really alone anymore.

It’s hard not to fixate on the potential pregnancy. She does what she can to distract herself, but it isn’t particularly effective. By the time she gets to Kansas, she figures it’s been long enough. She buys a pregnancy test from a gas station and considers just taking it right then and there, but decides that isn’t how she wants to find out. She books a motel, takes the test with shaking hands.

No one knows she did this except for Jason. She’s the only person who will be disappointed. Or elated.

Aria takes a deep breath. Jason is in India, building homes for people who need them. Ezra is probably shacked up with Melody or some other unfortunate girl in New York. Her friends are all living their lives, completely unsuspecting of Aria’s situation. She’s never felt so far from home, but she isn’t afraid.

Aria looks at the test.

She’s pregnant.


	4. Everything We Thought We Ever Wanted

There’s a photo on the mantle from their wedding day.

In the picture, Emily is holding Grace and Lily while Alison feeds them each a bite of cake. Neither bride are looking at the camera; they’re both laughing and looking at each other.

It was three days after the girls’ first birthday, and all of their friends were in town. They hadn’t done much planning up to that point, but a month or so prior Emily had mentioned that since everyone would be around, it might be a good time to get married. Alison had smiled and agreed with her.

They asked Aria to officiate. Hanna was heavily pregnant at the time, but she still gamely helped Emily and Alison pick out dresses. They decided to have the ceremony at the Lost Woods, since there was plenty of space and that way all of the wedding guests—a surprising amount could attend, despite the short notice—could stay on-sight. Pam and Ashley Marin helped decorate, and when Emily saw what they’d done her eyes filled with tears. The Lost Woods had never looked so magical, with twinkly lights and fresh flowers strung everywhere. Jason even flew in last minute to walk Ali down the aisle.

It wasn’t a perfect day—Spencer and Ezra both drank too much and had to be kept in separate corners, Grace started crying midway through Alison’s vows, Bridget Wu got high with half the catering staff—but it was beautiful, nonetheless. A happily ever after Emily never thought she’d get.

Now the girls are three, and when Emily looks at the picture, that day seems so long ago. She isn’t really sure why. It’s not as though all that much has changed. She still works at Rosewood High, though she’s cut down her hours so that she can be home with the girls when they’re not at preschool. Alison took over for Hackett as vice principal when he retired last year, and rumor has it that she’s on track to be principal in the next couple of years. Their house, which somewhere along the way stopped feeling like the DiLaurentis residence and started feeling like home, is both less organized and more lived-in than it’s ever been, which Ali remarks is a good thing whenever Emily voices concern.

Life, for all intents and purposes, is amazing. Emily has the family she always dreamed of. Sometimes it feels like she’s living in a fairy tale.

And sometimes—more than sometimes, really—Emily feels so overwhelmed that she can’t breathe. She’ll lock herself in the pantry when one of the girls is having a tantrum to keep herself from screaming. She’ll get cut off in traffic or stub her toe and hear a stream of angry expletives fall out of her mouth.

At night, she knows she should sleep, but she often feels restless. She’ll be downstairs on her laptop and suddenly find herself looking Paige up on Facebook, or even considering driving over to the Rosebud. It would be so easy, she thinks. Slipping off her wedding ring and sitting at the bar. Giving some pretty girl a fake name and letting her take Emily home.

Occasionally she wonders if perhaps the chaos of Ali’s youth has transferred over to her, like living a life with one eye on the exit might be contagious. It’s not as though Emily is going to act on any of these impulses. Probably not, anyway.

Alison doesn’t seem to feel the same way, though that might not be a fair judgment, since Emily hasn’t asked her. She doesn’t even know how she would.

 _Hey, do you ever just want to get out? Leave this life behind and go try on another?_

It’s an insane thing to think about. Especially since the implication is that Alison is part of the problem.

Maybe it’s because they moved so quickly, essentially condensing the first few years of a normal relationship into a less-than-six-month period. They skipped a few steps, Emily knows. They cheated, reading the ending of the book before the middle. They never really got to know one another as girlfriends before becoming parents.

But Emily doesn’t get to complain about that. She all but begged Ali to have Grace and Lily, and while she may regret the way she went about it—and would do everything in her power to change the circumstances of Ali’s pregnancy, a violation so horrifying it makes Emily’s stomach turn—she doesn’t regret her children. Not one bit.

Still, though. The pace of their relationship has been anything but traditional, since long before Alison’s pregnancy. Pushing everything down for so many years, pining in secret, grieving only to have hope restored, rebuilding a friendship that was always on the edge of something more, followed by so many years of nothing.

Emily moved away. She grew up. She said goodbye to her father and goodbye to the child she once was. She closed the door on Alison.

She never expected a window to open.

“You two built a beautiful life after so much tragedy,” Pam said tearily on their wedding day. “Not many people can do that.”

Emily used to believe that story, too. She thought that their trauma made them powerful, brought them together in spite of anything. Alison came back from the dead for her. They were star-crossed lovers, a living monument to being stronger in the broken places.

Part of her still believes that. Another part of her thinks about a legal phrase that she’s heard Spencer use before. _Fruit of the poisonous tree._ If the source is tainted, then anything gained from it is tainted as well.

She wonders if marriages can be that way, too. If sometimes, a break doesn’t make you stronger, it just makes you broken.

When Emily was a teenager, Alison was like a phantom, always just out of reach, a soft sigh of air in an empty room. Now Emily ponders if maybe the idea was better than the real thing. Ali is here, but it doesn’t always feel like they’re in the same place.

Emily isn’t certain anymore which one of them is the ghost.


	5. With Tangled Threads They Riddle Me to Solve (Part 1)

The obsession has taken Alison by surprise.

It’s not like it happened instantly. When Alex and Mary were captured a little over a year ago after having mysteriously disappeared for eighteen months, Alison purposefully avoided focusing on the case. She changed the conversation if Emily or Hanna brought it up, and she turned off the TV whenever the local news station offered an update on the Drake disappearance. She fretted, briefly, about having to testify in court, but her concern was unwarranted; Mary and Alex both took a plea deal—twenty-five to life with the (unlikely) possibility of parole. They’d almost certainly spend the rest of their lives in prison, but at least they wouldn’t be on death row. For two women who had very likely killed more than once, it wasn’t a terrible fate.

Alison breathed a sigh of relief when she got that particular message, but she still felt unsettled. It was an undeniably bizarre circumstance, just one of many in her lifetime. Alex and Mary are her family, but she was grateful to be rid of them. All she wanted was a normal life, and yet almost everyone she’s biologically related to was slipping away. Her father had passed away. Her mother and Charlotte had been murdered. She will probably never see Alex or Mary again. Jason and Spencer are in her life, but sporadically—Spencer less and less, ever since she relinquished her duties to the Lost Woods. Even Alison’s children aren’t her own blood.

All the same, she tried to let it go. Move forward. Concentrate not on the family that she was born into, but the one she had created. She has a wife and kids and a job that's actually fulfilling. She has tangible, wonderful things to focus on, not far off shadows of possibility.

She kept dwelling on Alex and Mary, though. The particulars gnawed at her, like the detail about an anonymous call that tipped Tanner off to their whereabouts, or the fact that they were found in Germany of all places—not England, which was theoretically Alex, Elliott and Wren’s stomping ground. It seemed clear that someone else was involved, but no news about a coconspirator emerged. 

When Mona returned to town, Alison’s occasional curiosity seemed to morph into something a little more intentional. Hanna hosted one awkward dinner party at the loft after Mona’s return—where Caleb got surly and Emily was too quiet on the way home—but other than that Ali and Mona weren’t really crossing paths. Alison couldn’t pin down many specifics about what Mona had been up to before her return, just that it seemed like she was planning on staying put in Rosewood.

It had to be connected, though. And the connective tissue, Ali realized with a sickening clarity, was Charlotte. Charlotte’s killer breezing back into Rosewood right at the time that Charlotte’s mother and sister were being put away for good? Ali knew enough not to believe in coincidences.

She hemmed and hawed about what to do. She wanted to talk to Emily about it, but she knew how tired Emily was of all of this, how deeply she needed to move on. Ali yearned to provide her with a semblance of normalcy, not thrust her back into the heart of a mystery. Ali certainly wasn’t going to confront Hanna about anything Mona-related, and Spencer and Aria seemed too absorbed in their own dramas to be of much help.

So she sat on the information for a while. There was no way she could go to Mona empty-handed. If they were going to talk, Ali would need some kind of proof.

Eventually, she made a decision. She hired Miles Corwin, a private investigator frequently used by the Hastings, so Alison knew that he must be both reliable and discreet. Progress was slow moving, mostly because neither one of them knew what to look for. The only instruction Alison could give boiled down to “find a connection between the Drake disappearance and Mona Vanderwaal,” which has been, unsurprisingly, next to impossible.

She’s heard from him once or twice in the six months since she hired him. The last time was two months ago. She assumed the trail dried up.

Whenever he does call, it’s undeniably weird. Inevitably, Alison will be in the middle of a mundane task—looking over a budget report at school, or reading the girls a bedtime story—when suddenly, she’s snapped out of her regular, respectable routine and back into the world she used to inhabit. One that has a lot more to do with dodging police and hustling for cash than grading papers and singing lullabies. A world she at one point thought—and hoped—she’d left behind long ago.

Still, she always takes the call, and today is no different. She’s driving home from work, but she pulls her car into a nearby parking lot so she can pay attention.

“We might actually have a solid lead,” Miles tells her. “I finally heard back from my contact at the FBI."

“And?” Alison prompts.

“Well, he couldn’t give me much. But he did say that the anonymous caller addressed Tanner by name.”

“So whoever called knew that Tanner was in charge of the investigation.”

“Right,” Miles confirms.

“That’s not a surprise, though,” Alison notes, feeling a prickle of disappointment.

“It’s not all,” Miles continues. “Don’t spread this around, but in Alex Drake’s interrogation, she named Mona as being the cause for her disappearance.”

Ali inhales sharply. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. I’m sending you the footage right now.”

“You have _video_?” Alison asks incredulously.

“Like I said, don’t spread it around.”

Alison shakes her head. “I just can’t get around the idea that the FBI wouldn’t follow up on Alex’s story if it was legitimate. I mean, Rosewood PD are idiots, but Tanner is a bulldog with the truth.”

Miles sighs. “Look, between you and me, it sounds like the FBI knew the story was credible and didn’t investigate on purpose. A hostage situation didn’t exactly fit their narrative.”

“The narrative being that Mary and Alex were criminals, not victims.”

“Precisely. Them being kidnapped muddied the waters. Tanner may have wanted the truth, but she also wanted to put the Drakes away for life. That was much more likely to happen if this was a cut-and-dry case of two masterminds intentionally evading the authorities.”

Alison chuckles humorlessly. “They were as tired of all of this as the rest of us.”

“Maybe so,” Miles offers. “What happens now?”

Alison straightens her spine and checks her reflection in the rearview mirror. It isn’t a whole lot to go on, but it’s enough to work with.

“Thank you, Miles. I think I can take it from here.”

\--

Alison is finishing up a phone call when Mona walks up. “Sounds good, Jenna. We’ll get the instruments in by Monday,” she says before hanging up.

Mona’s eyes widen as the sits down across from Ali. It’s a pretty day, and they’re meeting at the Mermaid Café. Rear Window Brew felt too loaded with memories for this particular occasion.

“Jenna?” Mona echoes. “As in _Jenna_ Jenna?”

“The very one,” Alison confirms. She guessed that Mona might pick up on that.

“Isn’t she working at the blind school now?” Mona asks, as though she doesn’t know already.

Ali nods. “Yep. Just got promoted to director. And she’s taking no prisoners, clearly; she’s already planning a benefit to raise $25,000 for their music therapy program. That’s what the call was about—some Rosewood High students are going to perform.”

Mona raises an eyebrow. “She actually asked you for a favor?”

“No, I offered. Figured it was about time to bury the hatchet. Plus it’s for a good cause.”

“And it’s good press,” Mona adds. “Which any Rosewood-adjacent institution is in perpetual need of.”

“Yes, that too,” Alison acknowledges. 

“And how does Emily feel about you teaming up with Jenna?”

Alison’s shoulders stiffen. “She feels fine about it.” That's a lie. She doesn’t know how Emily feels, because they haven’t actually talked about it.

There’s a slight twinkle in Mona’s eyes. “Really? She’s never exactly been Jenna’s biggest fan.”

The age-old animosity between them feels like a scab that Ali’s itching to pick. It would be easy to slip back into their old banter, trading barbs like they never left high school. But she knows how unproductive that would be, and she’s not going to risk this conversation getting out of her control.

“That was a long time ago,” Alison replies coolly. “We’ve all grown up since then.”

The sparkle in Mona’s eyes dims. “I suppose we have. So, why did you want to meet?”

“Well, first of all, thank you for showing up—”

“You made it seem like I didn’t have a choice,” Mona interjects. “You said it was urgent. I didn’t even know you had my number.”

“I got it from Hanna.” 

Mona’s posture changes almost imperceptibly at the mention of Hanna’s name. Alison wouldn’t notice if she hadn’t seen it happen so many times before. “I figured.”

“She didn’t want to give it up at first, if that makes you feel better,” Alison tells her. “I had to spin a story about wanting to bury the hatchet with you, too. Which I suppose is partially true.”

“What’s the real reason?”

Alison sighs as she reaches for her phone. She should have known that there would be little point in beating around the bush with Mona. “I'd like to talk to you about something very serious, but before we do, I want to tell you that I’m not threatening you. I just ask you to please be honest, because this isn’t an easy topic for either of us.”

“Okay,” Mona says, her face betraying nothing.

Ali takes a deep breath. “I have a very strong suspicion that you had something to do with Alex and Mary’s disappearance.”

Mona’s expression is steely. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ali.”

Alison unlocks her phone and scrolls to the video. She didn’t expect this to be easy. “I think that you do. Please, take a look at this.” She holds the phone up so Mona can see the screen. On it, Alex Drake is chained to a table in an interrogation room, sitting across from Tanner.

 _“I’m tellin’ you_ ,” Alex says angrily. _“We didn’t just run off! We couldn’t’ve!”_

 _“Oh, I think you could have,_ ” Tanner replies. _“You’re a very clever girl, Ms. Drake.”_

_“I’m tellin’ the truth, dammit! Mona took us! Held us in some doll shop or somethin’. She’s mad!”_

_“I think I’ll come back in a bit,_ ” Tanner says. _“When you’re ready to be honest_.”

The video cuts out from there. Alison’s seen it so many times that she knows all the words by heart. 

By the look on Mona’s face, she’s never seen the footage. “Where did you get this?” she asks, her voice low.

“I can’t tell you that. But you can see as well as I can that it hasn’t been doctored.”

“She was unstable,” Mona murmurs. “You heard the stories. Since she’s been in prison, she’s spent most of her time in the psych ward.”

“That fact doesn’t cancel out what she said,” Alison states, working hard to keep her composure. 

“If this actually happened, how come I’m not in jail? Why wasn’t I investigated?”

“We both know that the truth is more than a little slippery. If they wanted an airtight case against Alex and Mary, certain facts may have gotten discarded.”

Mona clenches her hands into tight fists. "Why are you doing this? Isn’t this more Spencer’s territory?”

Alison shrugs. “Guess I’m taking a turn wearing the detective hat. Spencer has other things to focus on right now.”

“That girl’s had more mental breakdowns than I have Manolos.”

“Like you’re one to talk.” It’s a cutting remark, but Mona’s evasiveness is starting to wear thin.

Mona looks mildly satisfied by the insult. “There’s that Ali D. I know so well. I was beginning to worry that motherhood had softened all your sharp edges.”

“Oh, I’m still plenty sharp. Sorry to break it to you.”

Mona shakes her head, plastering on a smile that Ali mostly sees through. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Sparring’s no fun without a worthy opponent.”

“You’re avoiding the issue here,” Alison points out. “What happened with Alex and Mary?”

Mona unclenches her fists and lays her hands flat against the table. Alison can only imagine the scenarios running through her head, the risk assessment that she’s furiously calculating. How exhausting, Ali thinks not for the first time, to live inside Mona’s head. And yet, how thrilling, all the same.

“I was protecting myself,” Mona finally admits. “You would have done the same thing.”

Ali feels her stomach drop at the confirmation. She could end it right here, call it a day. She got what she wanted. She won.

But there’s more to the story. There are still pieces that don’t quite match up, and Charlotte’s at the center of it. In spite of everything, Alison feels like she owes it to Charlotte to dig a little deeper.

“You didn’t need to,” Alison says. “I mean, Alex had every opportunity to kill you, if what she wanted was revenge for Charlotte’s death. Certainly by keeping her close you were only increasing that likelihood. But she didn’t kill you, obviously. She never even really tried.” Even as she speaks, she’s piecing this together. “And you must’ve known why, so you must have had another reason for keeping them captive.”

“Alison, let it go,” Mona implores. “It doesn’t matter anymore. You have a life here, concentrate on that.”

“It does matter, though!” Alison insists. There's a lump forming in her throat, and she has to work a little harder to get the words out. “This is my family!”

“You really care about what happens to Alex and Mary?”

“No, but I care about Charlotte. I never thought it was all an act. She loved me, I know she did.” As soon as the words leave Ali’s mouth, she realizes how much she still believes them. “And these pieces, they just…they don’t add up. Mary and Alex were the only two people left who cared about Charlotte, other than me, and you’re the person who killed her. It all comes back to Charlotte, right? Your reason for kidnapping them must have had to do with her too. Please, Mona, tell me the truth.”

Mona looks at her squarely before stating in a small voice, “I didn’t kill Charlotte.”

Alison sits back in her chair. She feels like she’s been hit with a lightening bolt. “What? Who did?”

Mona lets out a shaky breath, and Ali realizes that she’s also on the verge of crying. "Please, I’m begging you. This is going to turn our lives upside down. Emily and Hanna—this is going to change everything for them.”

Distantly, Ali knows she should pay attention to that, that Mona may in fact be making a very salient point about the importance of their lives in the here and now. But she can’t turn back now. Not when the truth is closer than it’s ever been.

“Our lives have _always_ been upside down! There’s always been a risk. Please, tell me. Who killed her?”

Mona shakes her head, her eyes filling with tears. “Nobody killed her.”

“What?” Ali opens and closes her mouth a couple of times. “What are you saying?”

“Nobody killed her,” Mona repeats. “Because Charlotte is alive.”


	6. With Tangled Threads They Riddle Me to Solve (Part 2)

“Charlotte is alive?” Alison echoes.

“We’re going to need more privacy if we’re going to continue this conversation. And alcohol,” Mona declares, already reaching into her wallet and producing a crisp twenty-dollar bill. “Come on. Let’s go to my place.”

“ _Mona_ ,” Ali says firmly, feeling bile rise in her throat. They can’t just pick up their things and leave it here. Mona can’t wave a magic wand and act like the last ten minutes didn’t happen.

“I promise I’ll tell you everything,” Mona replies in a low voice. “Trust me.”

It’s a ridiculous thing for her to say, because Alison can’t think of a single time when she wholeheartedly trusted Mona, and she’s certain that Mona feels the same way. But right now she doesn’t have a choice. She’s at Mona’s mercy, so she silently rises from her chair and follows her outside.

“You can pick up your car later,” Mona decides, opening the passenger-side door of her Lexus so Alison can climb in. “You’re in no condition to drive.”

Alison bristles slightly at Mona’s condescending tone, even though she knows that Mona is right. She’s barely even registering the world around them; she certainly shouldn’t be getting behind the wheel of a car.

 _Because Charlotte is alive. Charlotte. Alive._ The words ring in her ears on the short drive to Mona’s apartment. It’s impossible, and yet somehow inevitable. Alison wonders if this is how Charlotte felt that night at Thornhill, hearing Ali’s friends confirm that they had seen her.

_“I knew I wasn’t crazy. You really were alive.”_

Sitting here in this car with Mona— _Mona_ , who climbed into Ali’s skin because Charlotte made her, who herself knows what it’s like to be dead but also not—Ali starts to get lightheaded.

When Charlotte died, the grief felt enormous but not unexpected; part of Ali’s sadness was anger at her naiveté, her belief that she and Charlotte could make a family. _We were never supposed to get a happy ending_ , she thought, the voice in her head sounding eerily like her father’s. 

But now Alison feels her shock mix with a strange assuredness. Of course Charlotte is alive. She’s Ali’s sister—maybe not biologically, in the end, but on a soul level. Their connection always ran deeper. And Charlotte and Mona are sisters too, in a way. The A-Team, constantly reshaping and reforming themselves, putting on this mask or that one because it was the only way to be loved—or, when that failed, to be feared. Maybe Charlotte was what Mona could have been, without a mother to raise her or a best friend to champion her.

Alison and Mona both crawled out of their graves, sponged their own names off their tombstones. Charlotte was stronger and smarter and braver than them both. Of course she could have done the same thing.

Ali’s mind is still whirring as Mona parks the car and leads the two of them up to her apartment.Ali absently takes in the decor, observing that Mona's place is surprisingly modest but still impeccably styled. And, she notices with a prickle of curiosity, there are signs of Hanna and Olivia everywhere. A picture of the two of them eating ice cream taped to the fridge. One of Hanna’s sweaters draped over the back of the couch. An entire corner of the room outfitted specifically for Olivia, including a very expensive miniature kitchen set that Ali’s been considering buying for the girls.

Ali’s eyes hover on two empty wine glasses beside the sink. One of them has a smear of pink lipstick along the rim, Hanna’s shade. When Mona catches her staring, she marches over to the sink and quickly deposits the glasses into the dishwasher. Out of sight.

It’s almost as if Mona is still playing dolls, fashioning a reality in which Caleb doesn’t exist, in which she and Hanna and Olivia are their own little unit. Maybe they are, Ali recognizes. She and Hanna have been pretty out of touch lately.

Inexplicably, Ali’s eyes fill with tears. She feels homesick. Not for her childhood home, exactly, but for the girls they once were. She wishes she could go back and do it all over again. She’d make so many different choices. She’s certain Mona would too.

“Let me get you a drink,” Mona suggests. “What would you like?”

Ali doesn’t really drink anymore, not since the girls were born, but without hesitation she replies, “Something strong.”

Mona nods, producing two shot glasses and a half gallon of vodka from the freezer. Alison joins her at the kitchen counter and pours herself a shot, downing it before Mona has the chance to offer her a mixer. The burn is an odd comfort; it shocks her back into her own body. Ali thinks of Spencer, who she knows is drinking too much these days. Does she even feel the burn anymore?

Mona raises an eyebrow but silently follows suit, pouring herself a shot and knocking it back even quicker than Alison did. Never to be outdone, of course. Even at a time like this.

Ali lets her swallow before speaking. “I need answers. Now,” she demands, her contemplative attitude fading as her impatience starts to rise.

“Okay,” Mona says, squaring her shoulders. She walks over to the couch and pats the spot beside her. Ali sits down but can’t relax. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever be able to again.

“Charlotte and I—” Mona begins, “—we weren’t friends, not exactly. But we were more allied than anyone knew. She got in touch with me when she was at Welby. She was trying to make amends. At first I thought it was an act, but right before she got out I began to realize that it was genuine.”

“So you wanted her to get out?” Alison asks.

Mona shakes her head. “I didn’t want her around. I knew that would bring up all sorts of triggers that I was working my ass off to heal from. But I didn’t want her to stay locked up, either. Not when I knew she was working on her recovery. She started telling me things that were concerning, about Welby and Rollins. She felt that he was becoming obsessive. She’d entertained a relationship with him to get an early release, but now she worried that he was taking it too far.”

“He was a horrible man,” Ali confirms.

“He was,” Mona agrees. “And he had gotten connected with Mary, which Charlotte knew had the potential to become a volatile situation. Especially once they found out how much money she was worth. Mary loved her, but Mary also had her own agenda. Charlotte thought about simply running away when she got released, but after you’d invested so much time into her recovery, she thought you’d try to stop her, or want to go with her.”

“She didn’t want me with her?”

“Just the opposite,” Mona replies. “She loves you very much, Ali. She didn’t want you to leave your job and your support system here in Rosewood to go live on the run. She felt like you’d be better off without her—that if it came down to her or your friends, you shouldn’t have to choose. So she decided to fake her own death, and she asked me to help her.”

Ali blinks back more tears. “But… there was a body.”

“She planned it for a while. And Rosewood happens to be home to some excellent mask-makers and some less-than-ethical cops. We made it work.”

“Why did you help her?”

Mona sighs. “I figured it was a good way to get her out of town on her own terms. I hoped that would be the end of it. But when A.D. showed up, it ruined everything. I got all twisted up again. I didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t.”

“Charlotte could have come forward after Rollins died,” Ali points out.

“She was going to. But it became clear that someone was still playing the game. When she found out what Alex had done to you with Emily’s eggs, she was horrified. That crossed so many lines. And she was worried, too. Alex and Mary had figured out she was still alive. Charlotte knew they’d try to come find her and get her to join them.”

“What do you mean?” Ali asks. “Like…a super-villain A-Team?”

Mona nods. “More or less. Alex is really dangerous, more than Charlotte ever was. She had ambitions that went way beyond any Dollhouse. Charlotte was working hard to get better, but she was lonely, and Alex and Mary were offering a way back into the game.”

“So she did join them?”

“No,” Mona replies. “She decided to keep hiding in the hopes that they would give up. But I got scared.” Mona’s voice breaks slightly. “I just kept thinking—here Charlotte and I are, trying so hard to be different people, to redeem ourselves. But the fucking game…it was like we could never escape it. In some twisted way, I thought that if I locked up Alex and Mary, I was protecting us both."

Ali ponders her time on the run as a teen, when she longed to go back home while fearing it more than anything. Back then, she believed that she was doing the best she could with the shitty hand she’d been dealt. If Mona is telling the truth, she and Charlotte felt the same way about their decisions.

“Where is she now?” Alison asks, bracing herself for the answer that Mona doesn’t know, that Charlotte still doesn’t want to be found. It can be hard to stop hiding, Ali remembers, when you’ve spent a lifetime getting good at it.

“She moves around a lot,” Mona says. “I made her promise to check in every couple of months. After everything, I’ve—I’ve grown to really care about her.”

“Can you get in touch with her?”

Mona shakes her head. “She has to contact me first. She’ll send a message on a blocked cell, or send a postcard from somewhere remote. Once, it was a carrier pigeon.”

“Why is she still hiding? Everyone who could hurt her is either dead or locked up.”

Mona looks at Ali pointedly. “She’s reformed, but she’s still Charlotte. Not everything she’s done these past few years would qualify as legal. If she shows back up, the police will have questions. And once things start to unravel…”

“We all have blood on our hands,” Ali supplies.

“Exactly. It’s easier if she stays away.”

“I believed that once,” Alison says softly. “About myself. It wasn’t true.”

Mona clears her throat. “I understand that she’s your family. But I have a life here, too. One that I’ve worked very hard to get. If you start sniffing around for Charlotte, god knows what else will come out.” Mona’s tone is sharp, but there’s a slight tremble underneath it all.

Ali feels an enormous swell of empathy for her. “Mona, it doesn’t all have to come out. I can help make sure you don’t get in trouble for Alex and Mary.”

“I’m not worried about getting in trouble,” Mona murmurs. “Not with the police, anyway.”

“With Hanna,” Alison recognizes. “You don’t want to lose her.”

Mona holds Ali’s gaze, unblinking, before softening and letting her eyes close. “Not again. She’s forgiven me for so much. I don’t know how much more she can take.”

“You love her,” Ali says simply, because it’s true, it always has been, and she thinks about Paige standing in her living room, forcing her to tell the truth about Emily.

_"You find it so hard to be honest with yourself. I guess you don’t have a lot of practice with that."_

“I can’t keep this from her,” Mona says. Not answering Ali, but not lying, either. “Now that you know, you’re going to tell your friends. Hanna has to hear it from me.”

“When will Charlotte next contact you?” Ali asks.

“I don’t know. It’s pretty random.”

“Will you tell her, please?”

“That you know she’s alive?”

Ali nods. “Yeah. And that I want her to come home.” Before Mona can reply, she adds, “I’ll wait to tell them until we hear from her. That gives you the chance to talk to Hanna on your own.”

Mona arches an eyebrow. “What about Emily?”

Alison bites her lip, considering the bizarreness of this situation. She's essentially sacrificing her marriage for a sister who might not want her and an infatuation that Mona’s been harboring for years. It’s probably not a smart choice.

But if Emily knows, she will tell Hanna. Alison wouldn’t dream of asking her not to. And Mona gave Ali the truth. She might have given her Charlotte back. The least Alison can give her is this.

“It’ll be our secret.”


	7. And Then You're Someone You Are Not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Just a warning: this chapter contains some brief allusions to self-harm.

It isn’t ever supposed to happen more than once. It isn’t supposed to happen, period.

The first time is instinct, mostly, and a bit of serendipity.

It's been an especially hard week. _The Rosewood Observer_ runs a retrospective on the Drake case, plastering Alex and Mary’s pictures all over their website, which Spencer still finds herself checking daily. Hanna and Emily both call to see how she’s doing, but Spencer doesn’t pick up. Instead, she impulsively hacks her hair into a lopsided bob and goes out drinking.

She knows she’ll probably go home with someone. She just never thought it would be _him._

But it feels a little like fate, walking into that grimy bar in downtown D.C. to see Caleb Rivers sitting on a stool, nursing a beer that doesn’t seem to be his first. 

She has a choice, then. She could turn around. Go to a different bar, bring a different person into her bed.

She makes another choice. The wrong one, like always.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Spencer says as she slides onto the stool beside him, and she flashes, unwittingly, to Alex and Wren.

Caleb’s smile is slow and a little sexy, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You cut your hair.”

“It wasn’t planned.”

Caleb nods. “I saw the article. It’s just a slow news week, that’s the only reason it got published.”

Simple as that. He lived through the war with them. She doesn’t have to explain herself.

“Why are you here?” she asks.

“My old D.C. boss is working on a new campaign. He needed a consult.”

“Trying to get you to move back?”

Caleb shrugs, like it isn’t common knowledge between the two of them that his old boss had all but begged him to stay. “Maybe.”

“Hanna would hate it here,” Spencer points out. “She can’t stand politics.”

A shadow crosses Caleb’s face. It’s as though by saying Hanna’s name Spencer has broken a rule, conjured her energy, somehow. Though Hanna is miles away, she’s here with them suddenly. Peering over this interaction.

Spencer’s skin prickles. They haven’t crossed any lines.

Yet.

She buys him a drink to push the sensation away, which turns into three. Later, Spencer will act as if the night had gotten away from her. She’ll force herself to remember it in hazy, drunken fragments.

But that isn’t the truth. She makes plenty of decisions along the way. Speaking quietly enough that he has to sit closer to hear her. Stilling her hand when he covers it with his own, and later, letting her fingers skirt over his thigh. Holding his gaze for a few beats longer than necessary.

She leans into it. She enjoys the attention. When they leave the bar a couples hours later, both more than a little tipsy, Spencer angles her body toward his. She tugs on his sleeve, leading them in the direction of her apartment. A route he knows well, one he could have traveled in his sleep just a few years ago. Back when Spencer’s biggest concern was her preoccupation with the shape of his mouth, the way his eyes made her stomach swoop. Back before she found out who she really was, and everything fell apart.

It feels like a lifetime ago. She’s been a thousand other people in the space between.

They barely speak. She kisses him against her doorway, thinking about all the times she’d wanted to do just that. He slides his hands under her top, tracing across her ribs. Something is different about his touch, and when Spencer realizes that it’s the cool metal of his wedding band against her skin she wants to vomit.

But she doesn’t. She can’t seem to stop. They tumble to the bed and she shuts her eyes tight, vaguely hoping that if she can’t see him here, maybe this can all be a dream. She bites her lip to keep from making a sound—or, god forbid, calling out a name—and before long she can taste blood in her mouth. His body is heavy on top of hers; smothering, almost, like someone pressing on a bruise, but the weight is an odd comfort. It reminds her that she’s human.

Caleb leaves long before the morning with just a few mumbled parting words. When he’s gone, Spencer walks to the bathroom and forces herself to look in the mirror. Her eyes are bloodshot and her hair looks awful; she has a couple of hickeys on her neck and her ribs are too visible.

She barely recognizes the person staring back at her.

 _You had sex with Caleb_ , she thinks to her reflection. _You had sex with Hanna’s husband._

_Bitch. Whore. Traitor. Liar._

Spencer is out of excuses by the second time. It’s too easy. He’s back in D.C., and this time he comes straight to her apartment.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” she says, but it isn’t true. She knew that they’d be back here. She’s hit rock bottom enough times to know that she isn’t there quite yet.

They’re quicker, this time, and somehow exchange even fewer words.

“Why are you here?” she asks on his third visit. Probably breaking another rule by voicing the question that’s been on her mind.

“It isn’t working,” Caleb says. “My marriage.” His avoidance of Hanna’s name makes her irrationally angry.

“You’re not going to leave her for me,” Spencer replies firmly. “I’m not in love with you.”

“ _Ouch._ ” His tone is joking, though not particularly light. “Why’d you let me in?”

Spencer’s eyes burn. “I guess…maybe it’s a way of hurting myself. Without, y'know,  _hurting_ myself.”

Caleb rubs her wrist with the pad of this thumb. “No scars?”

She thinks about sobbing outside Toby’s door, convinced that the worst thing in the world had happened, only to discover what she thought was his body. Nearly losing Aria because of the truth she had uncovered about Ezra. Being so convinced that she had killed Alison, that the monster she’d been searching for all along was herself. Waking up in the Dollhouse covered in blood that wasn’t her own. Those switches, those awful switches, making her choose who got food or water. Who got hurt.

And then growing up, getting out, believing it was over. Being granted a fresh start she never imagined possible.

But it couldn’t be that simple. She’d never been so lucky. She came home to face Charlotte, cleaned up mess after mess—Hanna’s and her own; blood and dirt and shattered glass, everywhere, on the road that night. The sharp sting of a bullet and Mary’s soft voice: “I’m your mother.” Looking at herself in a mirror only for a hand to drop and Alex’s smirk to appear.

Another mask. Another lie. A lifetime's worth, stacked one on top of the other.

There are plenty of scars.

“Not any you can see, at least.”

He doesn’t ask any more questions after that.

The fourth time, Spencer whispers against his chest, “We’re not doing this again.” She’d gotten a call from Aria, a voicemail. Telling Spencer that she’s back from her trip and wants to get together. Just hearing the voice of one of her friends magnified Spencer’s guilt ten-fold.

“Okay,” Caleb replies.

It’s a lie. The next time, they meet in the middle of their two cities. They park their cars on opposite sides of the street like two old spies, but there’s nothing glamorous or even particularly hot about Caleb fucking her in the backseat of his Subaru while she clutches his daughter's car seat for support. It scratches an itch that is at once insignificant and enormous.

Rock bottom hits her a week later, when she isn’t expecting it. And yet, there’s something in the air. A peculiar charge of energy that sets Spencer on edge. She feels like a dog smelling an approaching storm, knowing in her bones that a terrible event looms on the horizon.

The knock comes in the evening. Spencer’s been so jumpy all day that it’s almost a relief. But not quite. She walks to the door on shaking legs, considering the concept of fate. Of life leading her to this very moment in time.

She recognizes the coconut shampoo before the door is fully opened. The scent is so familiar that it makes Spencer’s heart ache with nostalgia as she looks into a pair of red-rimmed eyes.

“Spence,” Hanna says, sounding more broken than Spencer can ever recall. “I think we need to talk.”


	8. If the High Was Worth the Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I know it's been a long time, but I have some exciting news to share along with this chapter!
> 
> [speakpirate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/speakpirate/pseuds/speakpirate) and I have a new podcast talking about queer themes in PLL! You can now listen to the first episode of [Everybody A Everybody Gay](https://anchor.fm/everybodyapod)
> 
> ...or listen on the Anchor app under "Everybody A Everybody Gay." (Soon to be available on other platforms)
> 
> And we have a podcast email address: EverybodyAPodcast@gmail.com
> 
> We're really excited about this project, and we think that readers of our fics will probably enjoy it, so go check it out! Fair warning: the audio is a little wonky, but the content is good, we promise! Here's the description of our first episode:
> 
> _In our spoiler-filled first episode, we explore the queerness of the pilot of Pretty Little Liars. We talk Ezra’s creepiness (#Prezria) and the predation of all Rosewood males, Hanna emulating Alison, Maya coming in at an eleven, Spencer’s queer fashion, and the themes of secrets and stories. A note: we know the audio isn’t perfect. We’re working on it. Thanks for listening!_
> 
> Doesn't that sound fun? 
> 
> Alright, enough self-promotion! Onto the fic...

Hanna can still feel the weight of the necklace in her hand even after she deposits it into Spencer’s palm.

Spencer’s mouth opens in a wide O, like she’s confused, like she really didn’t think it would come to this.

If Hanna’s jeans had real pockets instead of those stupid little half ones that women are afforded— _Just one more symbol of the patriarchy at work,_ she often thinks in a voice that sounds like Mona’s—the necklace would have been burning a hole in it on the car ride here. As it is, Hanna could almost feel it from inside her purse, pulsing as though it had gained a life of its own.

 _The necklace_. Spencer’s necklace.

The one she wore to Alison and Emily’s wedding.

The one Hanna dug out of the back of Caleb’s car yesterday.

She was looking for Liv’s plastic key set, which traveled everywhere with her. Hanna had already torn apart her own car looking for it and had asked Mona to take a look at her place. It wasn’t like Caleb was driving Liv around much these days, but Hanna figured his car was worth a shot. She slid her hand around in the backseat, locating a handful of stale Cheerios before her fingers brushed against something delicate and metallic wedged under Liv’s car seat.

It took her brain a second to register what the object was. But the memory rushed in quickly. She and Spencer had picked the necklace out together at the antique shop on Main Street. Hanna had spied it first: a glittering, gorgeous piece hidden amongst junk, a silver chain with a trio of emeralds that she knew would shine up beautifully. Spencer bought it for a bargain.

Hanna didn’t want it to make sense. She didn’t want the information to click into place, to slip neatly into a file cabinet of confusion and mistrust that she’d been mentally stockpiling for the past few months. She wanted to be indignant, to have another valid explanation at the ready.

That was the worst part. The logic of it. The sense of a puzzle piece finding its rightful home. She had guessed some time ago that Caleb might be having an affair. Spencer had been avoiding her for months. Hanna had done everything in her power not to connect those two observations, but she recognized with a sick feeling that in the back of her mind, she had drawn an invisible line between them.

The need to talk to Spencer was overwhelming. It felt more pressing than confronting Caleb, which already Hanna was viewing as a lot cause. She hadn’t been putting much energy into their marriage, had in some small, private way already grieved that it wasn’t ever going to be what she had imagined. The topic of divorce had yet to come up between them, but Hanna had mentioned it once or twice to Mona and her mom, trying on the idea. There were some days when it seemed like she and Caleb were playing an elaborate game of chicken, seeing who would be the first one to admit defeat.

It was a heartbreaking situation, but Hanna’s heart did not feel broken. At least, not by Caleb.

Spencer was another story. Hanna thought about that kiss she’d shared with Caleb at The Lost Woods, right before she was kidnapped and her life turned into yet another horror movie. She remembered how tired and awful she felt when Spencer told her that she knew about it, and then, not long after, what it was like to watch Spencer sobbing against the doorway of the barn. Hanna still didn’t think she’d ever seen Spencer in so much pain, not even after the Dollhouse, not even after she’d been shot. Hanna knew that Spencer’s hurt wasn’t just about the kiss—that it was, in fact, about every terrible thing swirling in their orbit at that current moment, kiss included. But the idea that Spencer could, after everything, wound Hanna right back in such a viciously familiar way made Hanna want to burst into tears or vomit, or maybe both.

Now she stands in front of Spencer, definitely crying and possibly on the verge of throwing up, having rid herself of that fucking necklace by dropping it into Spencer’s open hand, but feeling none the lighter for it.

“I found this,” Hanna says by way of explanation.

“You found it?”

Hanna can see Spencer doing the math in her head. Her eyes are wide and frightened and slightly wet.

“In Caleb’s car,” Hanna says.

“ _Oh_.” It’s more of an exhale than a word.

Hanna swallows, trying to remember the loose script she ran through in the car. “It’s bad, right? I mean, it’s what I think it is?”

“Yes.” Spencer’s voice is small. “Yes, I—I’m—we should sit down. Can I get you some tea?”

“ _Tea?_ You fucked my husband and you’re offering me tea?”

Spencer flinches as though she’s been slapped. “Han, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It wasn’t—it was never about you, about hurting you.”

“It did, though. It did hurt me.” Even to herself, Hanna sounds more sad than angry.

“I know it did.” Spencer rakes a hand through her hair.

“It happened more than once, didn’t it?”

Spencer nods, tears running down her cheeks.

“How—I mean, _why_?” Hanna asks, her own eyes starting to burn again. “There are so many guys out there—why Caleb?”

“I—I,” Spencer stammers. “I guess I didn’t have to explain myself to him.”

Hanna takes a breath before asking the question that she’s been dreading the answer to: “Are you in love with him?”

Spencer shakes her head so vigorously that tears fly onto her sweater. “No, absolutely not.”

Hanna isn’t sure if that answer makes it better or worse. In a way, Spencer and Caleb being in love might have made all of this seem worth it. But it also would have made life so much more complicated.

“We have a child,” Hanna says softly. It’s twisting the knife, for sure, but Spencer deserves it.

“Yeah.” Spencer chews on her lip. “What can I do to fix it?”

“My marriage, or…”

“Us,” Spencer supplies. “You and me.”

Hanna toyed with that question in the car, guessing that Spencer would eventually land there after working through her denial or guilt or whatever. She couldn’t come up with a good answer, and standing here in front of Spencer, she still can’t.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you saying that we can’t?” Spencer asks brokenly.

“Maybe. I don’t know,” Hanna repeats. “It _hurts_ , Spence.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it anymore, but that might not matter.”

“It might not,” Hanna acknowledges. Her face is sticky with tears. She doesn’t want to be here anymore.

“I need some time,” she says. “Don’t call me, okay?”

“Hanna, I don’t want to lose you. I can't,” Spencer pleads. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

There are a million things Hanna could say to that. She could scream, or scoff. She could say something cutting about Spencer having done plenty already. But she’s so tired and her heart aches, and she’s afraid that if she keeps talking she won’t be able to stop crying. So she turns around and walks out of Spencer’s apartment.

She doesn’t even think about looking back.

\--

Caleb arrives at Mona’s not long after Hanna gets back. Liv is asleep—Hanna dropped her off earlier in the day, giving Mona a brief rundown of what she’d stumbled across. “Whatever you need,” Mona promised. “I can have Tanner interrogating Spencer by sundown. Or I can key Caleb’s car.”

“Just take care of Liv,” Hanna replied. “I want her to feel like everything is normal.”

Hanna texted Caleb before she drove back to Rosewood, telling him that she needed to talk, though she honestly wouldn’t be surprised if Spencer gave him a heads up as well. She doesn’t know what to believe where those two are concerned.

Mona answers the door, fixing him with a glare that would make Hanna wither. Hanna looks up at him from the couch. “Hallway?” she suggests, not wanting to bring unnecessary drama into Mona’s home.

He nods, not really looking at her or Mona.

“I talked to Spencer,” she says once the door has closed behind them.

He looks a little spooked, but still has the audacity to ask, “What about?”

Hanna considers it a personal victory that she doesn’t slap him right then and there. “You _know._ God.” She shakes her head. “You used to have some self-respect.”

Caleb sighs heavily. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would go so far. I think maybe you and I got too serious too fast. I mean, we got married so I wouldn’t have to testify against you.”

“Are you somehow making this my fault?”

“No, of course not.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Whose idea was it for you to come here?”

Hanna raises an eyebrow. “To Mona’s? Mine. Why?”

“I’m sure she did a good job of making you think that.”

She crosses her arms. “You officially lost the right to comment on my decision-making when you decided to fuck Spencer. We’re so done. _I’m_ so done.”

“Hanna, I’m—”

“Save it,” she interjects. “Seriously, Caleb, you did this awful thing, and I just—I’m so…” She cuts herself off, breathing slowly to keep her voice from breaking. “Right now, I can’t even look at you. I don’t want you in my life. But you’re Liv’s father, and I know that you love her, so we’re going to have to figure something out.”

“I do love her,” Caleb replies, his words sounding extra gravelly. “I’m not sure about anything right now, though.”

Hanna’s spine stiffens. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t know if I can be a good dad to her right now.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

He shakes his head. “I’m messed up. I need to figure some stuff out.”

“So, what? You’re going to leave? We’re not in high school anymore! You can’t run off to Ravenswood because real life got too hard!” Hanna feels her anger spike so suddenly that her head starts to get hot. It’s one thing for him to do this to her, but to do it to Olivia…

“That isn’t fair. It’s not what I mean.”

“Then what _do_ you mean? You need a break from being a dad? It’s too much responsibility?”

“Space,” Caleb says, pathetically. “I just need a little space.”

“Fine!” Hanna exclaims. “Take all the space you need. But don’t expect either of us to be waiting when you get back.” With that, she turns on her heel and slams the apartment door in Caleb’s face.

Once it’s closed she slumps against it, breathing hard. Her body is humming with the adrenaline of her rage. She’s shaky and nauseous and realizes that her entire face and neck are wet with tears.

Mona steps out of the kitchen and hovers nearby, looking ready to offer physical comfort but uncertain if that’s what Hanna wants. “It didn’t go well, I take it?”

Hanna blinks rapidly as she steadies her breath. “Were you listening with a glass up against the door?” she asks, hoping the attempt at humor might help settle her down.

Mona offers a gentle scoff. “Please, I’m not an amateur. I have the hallway bugged.” When Hanna’s eyes go a little wide, Mona adds, “Kidding.”

Hanna presses herself off the wall and takes a couple of unsteady steps toward Mona. “You’re right, it didn’t go well. I could handle him leaving _me_ , but Liv—”

Mona’s eyebrows fly up. “He isn’t really?”

“He is,” Hanna confirms. “He’s leaving us both.”

“Oh, Han.” Mona holds out a hand, which Hanna gratefully takes.

“Men are awful. Every one of them.” She rubs her sleeve against her cheek. “I should just become a lesbian.”

Beside her, Mona tenses slightly. "Um, I don’t think it works like that, honey.”

“Right. Sorry.” Mona’s love life isn't a frequent topic of conversation, but Hanna at least knows that her occasional bedmates are primarily female these days.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I really thought I was being the bigger person, y’know?” Hanna sighs. “Like we could consciously uncouple, or whatever the hell Gwyneth Paltrow was preaching. But he doesn’t want to hang around, not even for his own daughter.”

“It’s his loss,” Mona says firmly.

Hanna nods knowingly. “That’s what my mom used to tell me about my dad.”

“Did it help?”

Hanna thinks about all those awful thoughts she used to have about herself and the way being around her dad seemed to stir them to the surface, even years after the divorce. The longing for him to care never really disappeared, despite her attempts to will it away.

“No, I still thought it was my fault, somehow. That I had driven him away.”

Mona strokes the back of Hanna’s hand with her thumb. "It wasn’t your fault then, and it isn’t yours now. Or Liv’s.”

Hanna shakes her head. “My poor mom. God, and I didn’t make it easy for her.”

“She loved you no matter what, and she still does. Just like you’ll always love Olivia. And you can stay here as long as you want. A week or a month or…”

“What?” Hanna asks with a small smile.

Mona shrugs a little shyly. “Forever.” She clears her throat. “I mean, there’s no time-limit.”

“Thank you.” Hanna looks at their intertwined hands, recognizing how safe she feels in this apartment after all this time. “I have something my mom didn’t have, though.”

“What’s that?”

“I have you.”

A weird shadow crosses Mona’s face, like a little flash of concern. Hanna is too emotionally spent to interrogate it, and it’s gone in a second. A mask falling to the floor.

“You do,” Mona tells her. “And I’m not going anywhere.”


End file.
